Is This Real Life?

This time last week I was sitting here drooling after a weekend of EPIC AWESOMENESS a weekend of forgetting that I was supposed to be brain damaged and broken and a mother and shit.

A weekend with women that will forever be part of my life.

Because they know too much.

I remember fuck all.

So I sent a call out to mah biatches to let me know what actually happened and a few of you awesome chicks sent me stuff that made me blush and then Shae went even further and did a WHOLE FUCKING POST.

Or not. Just love her, cause she is awesome even if she is a motherfucking crunchy granola unschooler.

Fucking love you biatch.

Blogopolis weekend is over. Which means no shouting “Hey Biatch” and “Cuntbiscuit” at the kids or at the woman who takes my money at Coles. And this morning when my 3 year old said to her Dad “you have a big croissant” I had to leave the room giggling and thinking “NOT a euphamism”.

And now I feel kind of strange. Like THE queen biatch herself MB2 said on Twitter “did it really happen? Is it possible that we had that much fun?”

I honestly have not laughed so fucking hard and so often in ages. And I keep randomly cracking up. I’m pretty sure my husband thinks there was “wacky tobaccy” being handed out at all of the events. I was trying to tell him a story about MB2s self-perceived enormous forearms which ended up with us calling her Popeye and suggesting an anchor tattoo and that she avoid spinach-I couldn’t finish the story because I was laughing so hard.

And how is it even possible to feel so connected to people whom you have only spent a little real life time with? I will admit that the epic amounts of alcohol consumed influenced the mass outpouring of information that is now burned into the brains of all those in attendance at club Inappropriate Overshare but still-it felt like a big teenage sleepover with my besties.

I keep thinking back to all of the dancing and laughing and swearing and oversharing and in-jokes and tears and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Not in the porny ways discussed Saturday night either. I’m a Biatch and that actually means more than commenting on each others blogs and RT-ing shit on Twitter.

But reality is a harsh motherfucker and while making corn flakes for the kids and settling disputes over My Little Ponies it feels surreal. Did I have that much fun? Were all of the hugs, oversharing, dancing to Madonna and side-spiltting laughter real? Or was I so drunk that I dreamed the whole thing?

It feels a little David After Dentist…Is this real life??

{if you have pics of your tatts or jewellery or tales of Bloggers Gone Wild you want to share – anonymously if necessary you know who you are – let me know. Cause I am all about sharing the love and the humiliation.}

Thanks to our partial accommodation sponsorship for a weekend of awesomeness:

Share this:

While I wasn’t there, I’m so glad you had such an awesome time. We all need a little (or a lot) pick-me up now and then. We all need people you can be YOU with and who love and appreciate you for being YOU.

Ok, smooshy crap over….fingers crossed I get to meet you and others some day….in a totally non-stalk-ery way. I could do with some belly laughs.

Now I have a Queen song stuck in my head. My sides ached the entire time I was there. If I didn’t know better I would have thought I had appendicitis or something.
And that slumber party will go down in history as the best fucking slumber party I’ve ever had. All it was missing was pillow fights in skimpy underwear…